


The Spies that go bump in the night affair

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya are snowed in and face a few unexpected surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


 

"The Spies that Go Bump in the Night Affair'

lllya Kuryakin completed his apprenticeship in Europe under the watchful eye of Harry Beldon, building his skills and experience with U.N.C.L.E. as a a section two field agent, but also using his scientific skills in the section four labs. Harry Beldon though decadent his his lifestyle and habits had an amazingly keen mind, and took full advantage of Kuryakin's skills in research and development. He developed quite a few useful tools for himself and for the agency while working there and enjoyed it doing it as it was something he was never able to do while working for the GRU. His heart though, was always in the field, as he preferred the action. He like so many other section two agents found they needed the thrill, unlike Illya though, some craved it like a junkie addicted to drugs.

Alexander Waverly finally called for his "pet project", as people generally referred to Kuryakin behind his back. He was to be transferred to New York after spending enough time Waverly felt, based in London and West Berlin "learning the ropes. But first Illya had to do something that every section two agent before him had done, and that was attend Survival School. This hidden island somewhere in the Pacific was the place where agents received their field training. Waverly had held off on it, as Kuryakin came to the organization already fully trained by the GRU, and felt the Russian just needed to learn the ways of UNCLE in order to function as a member of their agency was expected to in the field. UNCLE had it's rules and Illya needed to learn them and that was all Waverly needed the man to do for the moment.

But Kuryakin could not be shown special treatment...Waverly knew that and so before Illya was transferred to New York, he was shipped off to Jules Cutter to put in his required time at the School. While there Illya excelled in spite of the efforts of Jules Cutter to make him fail. Illya was a "dyed in the wool Commie" in Jules Cutter's eyes and he had no love for the Russian. He was against Alex's notion of bringing a Soviet into the fold from the start, but Illya succeeded at whatever Cutter threw at him and Jules developed a respect for Kuryakin's abilities. He graduated Survival School in 1956 and Cutter even asked him to stay after graduation to teach a class on explosives and ordinance.

All during his training, Illya kept hearing the name Solo, Napoleon Solo. The man had graduated the school two years prior to Kuryakin and was the one who had set all the standards from there on. Solo held most of the records at Survival school and Illya managed to beat or at least tie some of them...but the name Solo was still regarded as the best.

Illya finally made it to New York and spent the next few years working with different agents and was teamed with Solo for several missions. At first Illya thought him cavalier and pompous, but learned otherwise after Solo risked his life to save him on several occasions. He developed a healthy respect for Napoleon Solo and found he actually liked the man. Surprisingly Kuryakin dared to allow himself a feeling of trust toward Solo breaking one of his cardinal rules..."trust no one."

Alexander Waverly took note that the two men, though completely different in personality and style were talking to each other and worked very well together. Solo was the extrovert, quick to make a joke, but sharp minded and a brilliant strategist, his style being more "laid back," whereas Kuryakin though quiet, unemotional and ever the pragmatist, was athletic and quick to jump into action. Both men were deadly when needed to be. Their's became a "yin and yang" relationship; what one lacked, the other made up for it.

Alexander Waverly was not blind to their working relationship, as well as the friendship that seemed to be growing between the two men. He made the decision to keep them together as partners on a permanent basis; cautioning them however, that friendship must never supersede the importance of completing a mission. The day that happened, he warned them, would be the day the partnership would be dissolved and they would never work together again. That was three years ago...

Illya Kuryakin walked along a cold dark street in Milwaukee, he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets as it had begun to snow heavily. His courier drop was completed successfully and now he was on his way back to the hotel. Hopefully he would have a warm bed to go to, unless of course, his partner had found company for the evening as he often did. If that was the case Illya would have to wander the hotel until he found an unoccupied room to crash in for a few hours, if not for the rest of the night.

Agents were expected to share hotel accommodations, another little cost-saving move by accounting to curb the spending habits of the section two agents when out on assignment.

If their expense accounts were too high, then the agents in question were called on the carpet. And Waverly wanted to hear nothing of any cost overages from accounting as he let the guilty agents know of his displeasure. That was something no agent wanted to have happen. As mild mannered as the "Old Man" seemed; he could at times be brutal and make an agent feel two inches tall. And incurring the wrath of Alexander Waverly could always result in a transfer to some God forsaken outpost in the middle of nowhere, monitoring THRUSH communications on the weather conditions.

But the sharing of hotel accommodations with a partner who had a "way with the ladies" sometimes left Illya literally out in the cold from time to time.

As he anticipated, the doorknob to the the room was draped with a necktie; Napoleon's signal that he was 'occupied.' A do not disturb sign on the door as well told Kuryakin that he was also out of luck in reaching his bed.

Illya sighed in frustration, as he was tired and could feel a cold coming on...he just wanted to lay down and go to sleep.

"No matter," he smiled, he knew he would eventually have pay back; he always had his payback with Napoleon.

Illya resigned himself to it, and began his search for an empty room, but after a half hour he realized he was out of luck; the small hotel was fully booked; no room at the inn, so to speak.

There was always the lobby, but with only one armchair and that occupied by the night clerk it was eliminated as an option, the hotel bar was out of the question, too many barflies and that awful music being played on the piano by a man lacking any talent whatsoever was intolerable...so an all-night coffee shop would have to do.

There was one just a block away from the hotel where he could sit, feed his cold with food, drink coffee and at least stay warm indoors in relative safety...among the transients, destitute and homeless that were surely there seeking shelter from the snow. Illya walked into the diner, brushing the snow from his hair and coat, surveying the patrons...they were as he surmised; people left out in the cold with nowhere else to go at one a.m. in the morning.

If it had been any other agent that Illya had been partnered with for the assignment instead of Solo, then he would have probably tossed the lady out of the room and and claimed his right to his bed. But he was tolerant of Napoleon's liaisons as they did not interfere with their missions.  He simply owed his partner some slack for having been rescued by him one too many times.

He understood that Napoleon needed these brief encounters to feel human and to keep himself grounded in the real world. Illya on the other hand did not feel the need for such feminine contact as his partner did, and was much more selective about the women with whom he slept.

Illya sat down on a stool at the rear of the counter, giving him full view of the diner as well as quick access to the kitchen door if he needed to make a quick get away for whatever reason. But tonight he suspected there would be no trouble for him.

A heavy-set waitress with the name badge of Andrea pinned on her blouse asked him if he wanted to see a menu. He squinted at her name tag for a second and thought the name did not fit her...

"Just black coffee?" he answered politely," and a slice of that apple pie." he asked, pointing to it in the dessert case...making a point to acknowledge her name "thank you Andrea."

"I'm not Andrea,"she answered, snapping her chewing gum.

"That is what your name tag indicates," he pointed out to her.

The woman pulled the badge up, looking at it. "Well what d'ye know...wrong name tag!" she laughed. She looked at the rest of the people sitting in the diner." None of these losers would bother noticing!

My name is Fran," she smiled as she placed the pie and coffee in front of him.

"He returned her smile..."My name is Illya."

"Illya? What kind of name is that?" She asked.

They were in the middle of the Cold Warand he knew better than to tell her it was Russian..."Swedish, it's a Swedish name," he lied so easily.

"Really?" She smiled" I never met anybody from Sweden before. You from there, I mean... you have an accent and all."

"Yes," he returned her smile,  swallowing a forkful of pie.

"You here on business?"

"Yes...I work for an import company, just here for a few days." Illya kept it simple, just as he was taught to keep a cover story. This was one that he used on a regular basis, so the answers were always kept straight in his mind.

"Why you out on such a bad night like tonight? You have a date?" She smiled at him.

"No, but unfortunately my business associate does; he is shall I say, using our hotel room for some personal needs..." he mused himself, as he was telling the truth.

"Oh you poor thing!" said Fran," put out on a cold snowy night..."

Illya laughed "Not really a problem...I am used to it. My associate has a lot of dates."

"A good lookin' fella like you got no date for tonight and your friend does? He must be a real  looker if you're the one not gettin' the girl." she winked at him.

Illya shrugged, but gave no other response. He just enjoyed a second piece of pie and coffee on the house. After listening to Fran chatter on about nothing in particular, he looked at his watch...2:30 a.m. He decided to head back to the hotel in hopes that Napoleon had at least looked out the window, and seeing the worsening storm, decided to have pity on his partner and sent his lady friend off for the night.

He said goodbye to Fran and tipping her generously he then headed back to the hotel.

The snow was coming down heavily and the accumulation made it difficult to walk. By the time he got back to the hotel his shoes and socks were wet and his feet were quite numb. Of course he started to sneeze.

Arriving at the room, he saw the necktie and sign gone, still he knocked the usual code before entering, finding Napoleon coming out of the bathroom dressed in his grey silk pajamas and a navy blue silk robe.

"Have a lovely evening?" Snickered the Russian.

"Of course," he smiled" Miss Charlotte Witherby was just that...and you?"

"Just LOVELY.if you can call sloshing about in snow at nearly 3 in the morning and hanging around at an all night diner with the local derelicts...THAT.""

"Hmmm, cranky," Solo tried not to grin." Sounds like your kind of crowd; no unoccupied rooms huh?

"Obviously not," monotoned the Russian, while taking off his wet wool coat and tossing across Napoleon's suit jacket that was draped neatly on a chair.

"Hey, sorry," Napoleon offered his apology before picking up the coat and putting it on a hanger.

Illya grunted and sat on the bed, pulling off his soggy shoes and socks. Stripping down to his underwear he climbed under the blankets, not bothering to put on pajamas. The last thing he did was to slip his Walther under his pillow. "Night..." he mumbled, then fell right to sleep.

Kuryakin woke with a start, sitting up in bed with his gun in his hand pointed towards the door. Napoleon doing the same. Someone was there jiggling the doorknob apparently trying to get in. The two agents were out of their beds instantly flanking either side of the door. The knob turned slowly and the door opened about an inch then stopped. They waited, but the door opened no further.

Napoleon motioned for Illya to step aside, then quickly pulled the the door open, finding no one there. Solo looked cautiously out into the hallway but it was empty.

"What the hell was that all about?" Illya asked.

Napoleon shrugged..."maybe someone thought it was their room and tried to come in?"

"Napoleon, we and the management should be the only ones with keys,"  Illya said.

"Well  I think maybe someone left the door unlocked when he came in?" said Napoleon, taking a shot at Illya.

"I think not," replied an annoyed Russian."and how could someone have opened the door and completely disappeared so quickly?"

"Maybe they're in the room across from us,  don't know."  Napoleon was equally bewildered." I suppose one of us will have to stay up. Coin toss?"

It was now 4 a.m. and they'd both had only an hour of sleep.

"Fine," Illya answered tersely.

Solo took a quarter from his change laying on the night stand. "Heads I get first watch, tails you do," he said flipping it and letting it drop to the floor.

"Tails," he smiled, climbing back into bed.

"Of course it was," Illya thought, knowing that Napoleon was the luckiest _sukin syn_ son of a bitch,_  he had ever met. The Russian threw on a sweatsuit and sneakers, wedged the back of a chair beneath the doorknob, though the door was again locked.  Putting on his glasses, he settled into reading the only thing available and that was a TIME magazine dated several months back.

 

Sometime later the knob jiggled again, sending Illya immediately to the door. He looked out the peephole, but still there was no one there.

"Maybe the fixture is defective," he thought," a faulty spring perhaps?"

He checked that the door was still locked then returned to his bed, propping himself up with an extra pillow; he continued to read the dated magazine. He was dog tired, and was sure he was coming down with a cold, but must have nodded off when he woke with a start.

Illya shook his head to clear it of his drowsiness, looking across to Napoleon who was fast asleep. He suddenly realized the chair was no longer wedged under the nob and had been moved away.

"Chto,chert voz'mi!_what the hell?" Illya got up and checked to see that the door was still locked.

"Why would Napoleon have moved the chair?" He wondered. Perhaps to mess with his head, because he had dozed off; but then he thought that was a rather risky prank to play considering they had no idea who their late night visitor was.

He looked at his watch; it was now 8 a.m. and they would have to be at the airport by 10:30 a.m. to catch their flight back to New York.

Illya resigned himself to that fact that he would sleep on the plane, and decided to wake Napoleon, giving them time to shower, shave and have a decent breakfast. Maybe he would drag Solo to the diner to show him where he had to sit half the night and make him pay for breakfast as recompense.

Illya called his name,"Time to get up!"

"Gee mom, already?" Napoleon called from beneath the blanket.

"Keep watch while I shower,"Illya said," and why did you move the chair from the door last night?"

"I didn't move it," Napoleon answered with a yawn.

"Someone was trying to open the door again and it was moved when I woke..." Illya stopped himself.

"Oh sleeping on the job; nice guard duty buddy!" Napoleon jabbed.

Illya was tired and in no mood for Napoleon's usual banter." I did not move that chair, and if you did not move it, then who did?"

Napoleon only shrugged his shoulders, thinking it was his partner who was playing a prank on him.

Illya shoved the chair back against the door in a huff, then headed for the bathroom for his shower, believing his partner was still joking with him.

After they both cleaned up, the two agents headed down to the lobby, coats and suitcases in hand. Illya was now determined to drag Napoleon to the diner.

"Gentlemen,"said the desk clerk," I'm afraid you're not going to get very far out there as it's an official blizzard! There's at least two feet of snow and it's still comin' down. Weather report on the radio says it's going to be a record snowfall."

They looked at each other in surprise, and quickly decided  to the small hotel dining room; it was filled with the other guests who were also snowbound.

The pair ordered a hearty breakfast which was paid for on Napoleon's expense account, payback for Illya's trouble.

"Guess no flight out today," said Solo, pushing his breakfast plate away.

"Napoleon, you state the obvious. Mr. Waverly will not be pleased as he is expecting us in New York by this evening. This was a simple drop, and you know he has another assignment waiting on his desk for us, as if we could control the weather?"

"Well they say, no rest for the wicked, or is that weary?" Sighed his partner.

"Speaking of rest" said Illya" YOU get first watch tonight as we still do not know who was trying to get into our room last night, nor do we know if they are snowed in here just as we are, AND you get to contact Mr. Waverly and inform him of our delay," Illya smiled, crossing his arms in front of himself in complete satisfaction.

Solo made a childish face at his partner, realizing that his sudden thought of revisiting with the lovely Charlotte again, maybe in her room... would be out of the question. Illya was right, someone was creeping around their room and they had no idea why. Napoleon signed for the bill, adding a nice tip for the waitress, a cute little blonde, but a little young even for him. He guessed she was maybe seventeen or eighteen at the most. Leaving Illya, he disappeared out of sight to contact headquarters.

Illya walked to the front door to survey the snowfall; some of it had been shoveled away from the hotel entrance but it was quickly drifting up as the wind blew horizontally, creating near white-out conditions. The cars parked in front of the hotel were barely visible and he could not even make out anything across the street. Illya's thoughts went to Fran and the lost souls in the diner, suddenly hoping they were all right.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon pulled out his communicator while he remained hidden behind a lush palm tree in an alcove beside the hotel elevator.

"Open Channel D, Waverly," he softly spoke into his cigarette case.

"Good morning Mr. Solo.Enjoying the wintry landscape?" answered Alexander Waverly.

The Old Man didn't miss a thing thought Solo," So you're aware of our delay then sir?" 

"Yes Mr. Solo. I hear record snowfalls are predicted; quite troublesome and annoying, as I have another assignment awaiting your attention. As soon as the storm is over and travel resumes, please return to headquarters immediately. You and Mr. Kuryakin enjoy the respite, as I expect you may be snowbound for several days. Waverly out."

"Respite," repeated Napoleon," in this place?"

He headed back out to the lobby to collect his partner, then the two of them headed back up to their room. They threw their cases in the corner, then wedged the chair against the door again. Illya hit the bed and went to sleep immediately, while Napoleon already bored, flipped on the television, tuning to the local news.

The 'forecasters call for an overnight snowfall with snow accumulations in some areas up to four feet..." said the voice of the announce. 'The public is advised to stay indoors and off the streets, as this is predicted to be a dangerous storm. If you have elderly neighbors or anyone who lives alone check..." Napoleon turned the television off with a moan

"Great!" At this rate they'd be stuck here for more than a few days!" He walked over to the door and the chair, checking both before he went to the bathroom; when he came out the chair had been moved moved..."another joke on his partner's part!" He thought.

"ILL-I-YA!" He barked, adding that extra syllable that always annoyed the Russian.

Kuryakin nearly jumped out of his skin as he woke, as usual with his gun in his hand.

"What?" He called to Napoleon as he surveyed the room." What is wrong?"

"YOU moved the Goddamn chair didn't you?"

"What... _chert poberi_dammit_ Napoleon," he cursed in Russian rubbing his eyes." I did no such thing! I-did-not move-that chair!I was asleep until YOU woke me! Now quit your joking and let me sleep, please?" Illya returned the Walther underneath his pillow, laying his head back down.

"I did-not-touch-that-chair either!" Napoleon insisted, mocking the way Illya had spoken.

"Maybe it was a ghost then..."Illya mumbled, though he really didn't believe in them. He buried his face in the pillow with a moan.

"Then I'm losing my mind and you lost yours this morning. Something very strange is going on here." said Solo."Could THRUSH know we're here? Maybe they're pumping our room with some sort of gas..." he sniffed the air to see if he could detect anything unusual.

"Napoleon! Will you please shut up! Perhaps it is just a defective doorknob and the chair is merely slipping out from underneath it Now for pity's sake let me sleep?" Illya suddenly sneezed, grabbing his handkerchief.

The rest of the afternoon remained incident free, and by 5 p.m. the two of them were now completely bored. Napoleon chatted a while on his communicator with Dolores back at headquarters.

Illya lay in his bed rolling his eyes at his partner's flirtatious comments to the woman...thinking he should be accustomed to if after all these years. Finally Napoleon closed his communicator  and returned it to the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Napoleon, do you ever give it a rest?" Illya asked him that question, probably for the hundredth time.

"Does the sun ever stop shining?" he smiled.

"Yes it does as a matter of fact," Illya retorted while pointing out the window to the dark sky.

"Well, it's shining somewhere," Solo countered."Let's go eat, then we can hit the bar for a bit."

That suited Illya fine, food and vodka on a snowy evening. When they arrived at the dining room they found the menu was somewhat limited, as all the guests were eating their meals in the hotel and there had been no fresh food deliveries due to the storm, so food was running a bit short. This forced the chef to be rather creative. The choice for dinner was the beef stew...or the beef stew with burgundy sauce over rice. The two agents opted for the burgundy one. Either way, it would at least be filling. They had both noticed their room had become chilly, so a hearty meal would make it feel a little more tolerable of the cold. Illya wondered when the hotel had their last heating oil delivery...

After dinner they headed for the bar. A scotch on the rocks for Napoleon and a vodka neat, of course for Illya. After three rounds they were both feeling quite toasty as Solo put it.

"Here's to a very brief respite," Napoleon said, raising a fourth shot of J.D.

"Soglasilis"_ agreed!" Illya whispered in his own language, raising another glass of vodka and quickly downing it.

They happened to overhear two young women sitting in the booth next to them complaining about things being moved mysteriously around their room.

"Excuse me miss," smiled Napoleon,"may I ask what room you're staying in?

"Oh...why room 303," she smiled at him flirtatiously.

Napoleon thanked her but said nothing.

"That is the room next to ours," Illya whispered.

At that moment the barman spoke up..."Yep..I was wonderin' when it'd start up...every time we get a big storm it happens."

"What happens?" Asked the Russian.

"Oh, the ghosts. They start acting up.".

"Ghosts!"laughed Kuryakin. "There are no such things!"

"Hey you suggested it this afternoon," quipped Napoleon.

"I was making a joke. Surely you cannot believe in such a thing?" Illya asked him, rather surprised.

"You never know...think about some of the things we've seen; zombies, vampire bats, and enough mad scientists to sink a ship. Why not ghosts...?" 

"Yep, this hotel was a hot spot  in it's day, back in the 1920s," said the barman,"This very bar was closed off as a speak-easy and the special clientele were serviced up on the third floor where you all are staying."

"That gives me the creeps!" Said one of the women.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Miss?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh, Jennifer, Jennifer Johannsen and this is my sister Margaret," she smiled.

"Charmed, ladies. My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo and this is my...business associate Illya Kuryakin.''

Illya nodded to the two women, then thought "Here we go..." rolling his eyes again trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

"You two are businessmen?" Asked Jennifer.

"Imports and exports," Illya chimed in." I am here visiting the U.S. from Sweden and Mr. Solo works here for our company."

Margaret suddenly addressed Illya in Swedish "Jä glad att trä dig, Herr Kuryakin_ I am pleased to meet you Mr. Kuryakin.

Illya responded to her in kind, not missing a beat "Och jäg dig, Fröken Johannsen_And I you, Miss Johannsen...your accent is excellent." he smiled at her, "Where did you learn to speak Swedish?"

"Oh I studied in England for a while...took a lot of trips through Europe with my school mates. Sweden is one of my favorite places. Qur grandfather was from Sweden... now "Kuryakin," that's not a Swedish name is it?"

"No, It is Polish...my father was from Poland," he gave her one of his other standard answers. Then suddenly hoping there was a chance at more stimulating and interesting conversation for the evening than he first anticipated. Illya observed that Napoleon was already making his moves on the sister, and decided that he should choose his words carefully, so as to not give the same signals to Margaret, as Napoleon was giving to her sister. As Illya had no interest in the girl that way. Clearly Napoleon was flirting with Jennifer.

"So are you married?" Jennifer asked Napoleon, fluttering her eyelashes at him just a little as she smiled innocently.

Napoleon would never be the marrying kind," thought Illya" he could never tie himself down to one woman, then neither could Illya, for that matter. He was not against marriage, but he could not imagine having a woman put up with him and his habits, much less handle the fact that she could lose her husband any moment, day in and day out. Men like he and Solo were married to their jobs and the business of espionage as well as saving the world from time to time.

Napoleon leaned on his elbow facing the sister, "So Jennifer so you believe in ghosts? He flashed his smile at her, changing the subject.

"Well, if you asked me that two days ago, I would have told you no...but after what happened in our room yesterday and today, and after what the bartender just told us, I'm not so sure now." she answered.

"What exactly happened?" Illya asked.

"When we went to bed, our suitcases and travel cases had been put in the closet, then Maggie woke up in the middle of the night after she'd heard some sound like someone moaning, then laughter and then she found all our luggage sitting stacked on the floor by the door! First she thought I was pulling a joke on her...which I wasn't! It was almost like we were being told to check out?

"I thought the noise was coming from your room and I was gonna knock on the wall for you to keep it down...but when I saw the cases...sounds went away." said Margaret.

" Were you making the racket...or did you gentlemen have anything strange happen in your room" asked Margaret.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, our locked door was opened and a chair was moved several times" Napoleon answered." no sounds, though. Illya and I were asleep."

"Now this is really frightening me!" said Jennifer " rubbing her arms as if they were cold."say...do you feel that? It got really cold all of a sudden. Positively frigid!

Napoleon took off his suit jacket, draping it over Jennifer's shoulders. "Allow me mademoiselle?" he said smoothly.

Illya however, made no such gentlemanly offer to Margaret.

"They say it gets really cold when spirits are around" Jennifer whispered to Napoleon, giving him the opportunity to put his arm around her shoulders.

Illya on the other hand asked the barman if everything was alright with the heating only spirits Kuryakin was interested in was in a bottle of Stolchinaya.

"It's kind of antiquated sir," he replied pouring Illya another glass of vodka," and unfortunately...well let's say the furnace is working overtime and the heating oil is going fast keeping this place warm because of the storm. And we won't get another delivery until who know when..."

"Hmmm" purred Solo" we may have to make like Eskimos and rely on some body heat to get us through the night.

"Napoleon! Excuse me?" giggled Jennifer " I'm not that type of girl!

"Oh Jeeze! That's my sister" whispered Margaret leaning deliberately close to Illya's ear," always trying to play hard to get! Soooo Illya, you playin' hard to get?" she whispered, nuzzling his ear,"mmm, you smell nice"

Illya leaned away from her, holding up his hand and flashing the gold band he usually wore on his left hand, just for such an occasion as this." I am flattered Margaret," he lied" but I think there is someone who would be rather upset." he said to her being rather obtuse.

"She wouldn't have to know" Margaret smiled.

"Ah...but I would" Illya said", it goes against my vows." answering her most seriously.

"Vows..like in wedding vows?" she asked.

Illya just smiled at her...he reached out pinching were chin,"Some day you may meet someone special."

"Inte en chans va?_not a chance huh?" she asked.

"Tyvörr, ingen_" sorry, no." Illya smiled.

Suddenly the lights flickered, then went off for a minute, accompanied by the usual gasps and groans from the bar patrons.

The desk clerk came in and spoke to the barman. The the man made an announcement."Sorry folks, but we're going to have to close down the bar...there's a good chance we're going to lose power, and we'd rather have you all safe and warm in your rooms then caught down here in the dark! There's extra blankets out by the desk for you, if you'd each pick one up on your way up to your rooms. And my apologies...please take the stairs, not the elevator...don't want anyone stuck in the elevator if the power goes out! So let's go folks...sorry no last call! He clapped his hands calling everyone to get up out of their chairs.

Kuryakin motioned to the barman, whispered a few words, handing him some money, then was handed a bottle of Stolchinaya and J.D. in return.

Napoleon, Illya headed out to the desk, picking up the blankets, then escorted the sisters up to their room.

Napoleon knew it wasn't going to go anywhere with Jennifer as he walked her to her door. He did however, get a good night kiss on the cheek from her. "C'est la vie?" he thought.

"Remember girls, we're right next door, any problems and you just call us." Napoleon said giving them a little two-fingered salute as he disappeared into the room after Illya.

"Oh Paleese!" Illya said, flopping on his bed "you are going to rescue them from ghosts!" he shook his hands in a mocking gesture.

"Ah Illya my lad," Napoleon laughed" the power of suggestion works wonders with the ladies...

"Napoleon..there are no ghosts! The door handle to our room is obviously defective. When the handle loosens by way of a bad spring, it releases the tension on the chair causing it to come free...there is a simple explanation for it!" insisted Illya" just like the drop in temperature! We are in the middle of a blizzard in a very old creaky building, with a substandard heating system, there are bound to be a lot of drafts!"

"And what about the girls suit cases being stacked by their door" Solo demanded.

"Those two women were fairly well drunk when we started to speak with them...it is a good chance they were inebriated last night as they seem the type...well they probably did it themselves or one is indeed pulling a joke on the other" Illya insisted as he poured a scotch for Napoleon and a glass of vodka for himself.

Suddenly there was a scream from next door and Solo and Kuryakin were out and at the girl's door in seconds with their guns drawn.

Napoleon banged on the door several times before it finally opened. The two agents rushed inside just as some other people stuck their heads out their doors to see what the disturbance was.

They found the sister's huddled together in a corner of their room, dressed in their night gowns and robes. There beds were facing each other end to end and their suitcases were stacked neatly on the beds.

They quickly ducked their weapons out of sight.

"Oh my God!" cried Jennifer as she ran to Napoleon's arms."I swear! We didn't do this! We just went into the bathroom to wash up and when we came out the beds...they were like this! Both the women were obviously shaken." Can we go to your room? We don't want to stay in this room...please?" begged Jennifer, "yes, please" Margaret pleaded as well.

Napoleon looked at Illya, who only shrugged."Alright girls, just get your blankets...you can share a bed and Illya and I will take the other.

The women grabbed their blankets and quickly followed Napoleon and Illya to their room. The hotel was indeed getting much colder as he wind howled wildly outside... and not due to some ghostly presence.

Napoleon found a length of clothes line in the closet, left by someone who must have surely hung some laundry there at one time or another. He tied it onto the wall sconces and stretched it across the room, then draped a sheet across it for privacy for the ladies...Napoleon displaying his chivalrous side.

"Thank you Napoleon...Illya," the sisters called to them from the other side of the sheet."We really appreciate this!"

"Not a problem" answered Napoleon.

"Good night ladies" called Illya; he had already changed into a sweat suit and had climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up around his head.

Napoleon opted for a sweatsuit as well, instead of his silk pajamas for the cold night ahead.

The rest of the night went without incident and when Illya woke in the morning the snow was beginning to taper off, obviously the storm was almost over as he looked out through the curtains, he could now see a snow plow making it's way along the the street, and people beginning to shovel out the sidewalks. Perhaps if the airport was cleared, they could get out by the evening. Illya really wanted to get home and into his own bed, and nurse his cold. He had a slight headache, not from the vodka as it was Stoli and not some cheap brand of vodka that always gave him headaches.

But he decided a bit of "the hair of the dog" as Napoleon would say, and he went to pour himself a shot of vodka. He went to fetch the bottle from the dresser and found it and the bottle of J.D. both completely empty!

He was right! These two women were p'yanits_drunkards...he searched for the English word..."lushes," he thought to himself.

Solo woke up, climbing out of bed, he whispered."sleep well?"

Illya was not feeling particularly conversational at the moment and only shrugged. He grabbed clean clothes from his suitcase. I am going to shower in their room, "he spoke quietly" I do not think the ghosts will mind" he then added with a smirk.

"Suit yourself" laughed Napoleon" just don't scream like a girl if you see one!"

"Very funny..."

Solo noticed the empty liquor bottles and wondered if Illya...no he was as sober as a judge, then he thought about Illya's comment about the girls, wondering if his partner might have been right about them.

Ilya entered the girl's room, finding the beds still end to end, as well as the suitcases still being stacked. He shook his head in disbelief, figuring the women had done this...and wondered what their angle really was...obviously not to try anything though as they went to bed and stayed there all night...but then again there was the empty liquor bottles.

He opened the light switch, but nothing came on and wondered if the power was out. He then stripped, turned the shower on and stepped into the tub. "Der'mo!_shit!" he cursed, jumping, as ice cold water shocked him. Obviously the heat and power had gone out during he night as there was no hot water. But Illya was used to taking cold showers most of his life, so once he was over the initial shock, he simply disregarded the discomfort and bathed himself...though more quickly that usual.

Illya toweled himself off, shaved then dressed into his usual black suit and turtleneck, but when he stepped from the bathroom fixing his tie, he suddenly became aware of a presence in the room. He drew his gun from his holster...when he suddenly saw a woman sitting on the farthest edge of one of the beds.

He opened his mouth to speak as he aimed the Walther at her but she put her finger to her mouth, telling him silently to be quiet. She was clothed oddly in a dress with layers of fringe, that shimmered as she moved. The woman smiled at him, raised a glass at him...then suddenly she disappeared as if she had never been there! Illya rubbed his eye in disbelief...then confused, he walked over to the bed where the woman sitting and actually saw the indentation in the satin quilt where she had been seated. Illya looked under the beds and in the closet, but found no sign of her. He looked at his wristwatch...it could not have been some sort of hallucenagenic gas, as he had lost no time, so there was no memory lapse? Could he have possibly been drugged?

Illya returned to his room completely bewildered and Napoleon noticed, looking quite pale. Kuryakin was not the type of man to let his imagination get the better of him...more so, he considered himself generally an unimaginative man. He has given up the flights of fancy from his childhood and became a realist, dealing in concrete facts, but lacking any fact that he could wrap his mind around to rationalize what he saw next door. Illya found himself thrown completely for a loss.

Napoleon decided to forgo the cold shower and simply washed up, shaved and dressed. When he emerged from the bathroom, Illya had their bags packed and the privacy curtain and rope taken down. He had walked the girls back to their room, assuring them they'd be unharmed.

"Illya, no pun intended"said Solo" but you looked like you'd just seen a ghost when you came back from your shower...did something else happen in that room?"

"Yes," Illya paused," something did, I...I saw a woman sitting on one of he beds, sitting there having a drink... and then she just was not there. She was dressed rather oddly..." the Russian described the clothing to his partner.

"Sounds like she was dressed like flapper?" Napoleon said.

"A what?" asked Illya, unfamiliar with the term.

"It was a type of dancer from the 1920's... women would wear fringed dresses that would shimmy and shake as they would dance...you know, tovarisch, I think you really just might have seen a ghost. They said this place was a speakeasy...maybe one of the former "call-girls" stil haunts it?" Napoleon smiled.

Kuryakin did not answer, not wanting to admit to his partner that he suspected that he just might be right.

"Can we just go Napoleon...they are plowing the roads; I just want to get home to my own bed!" Illya complained," I have had enough of this place."

The two agents escorted Jennifer and Margaret downstairs to breakfast.

There had been a food and oil deliver so everything was fine. The ate a quick meal, said their goodbyes to the women. Then managed to find a taxi that was willing to take them to the airport. By the time they had arrived, the runway had been cleared and they caught an early evening flight back to New York. It was an uneventful drop as far as the assignment was concerned so neither of them mentioned the eerie experiences in their brief report to Waverly, or anyone else for that matter.

Waverly's assistant Lisa Rogers, looked up at Illya as he walked past her desk as he left Napoleon in her boss's conference room, receiving the details of his next assignment. He stopped in front of her, leaning forward resting on his his elbow..."Tell me Lisa," he asked very softly to her," do you believe in ghosts?" with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes," or perhaps, things that go bump in the night?"

FINIS


End file.
